Grow old along with me!
The best is yet to be,
The last of life, for which the first was made:
Our times are in His hand
Who saith “A whole I planned,
Youth shows but half; trust God: see all, nor be afraid!”
~Rabbi Ben Ezra by Robert Browning
‘It says it’s not supposed to rain until Thursday.’ I glance up from my perch on a kitchen stool and into the living room at my man on the couch. Flicking through the 10-day forecast from his phone he announces triumphantly, ‘And then a cold front is coming through.’
‘I won’t believe it,’ I say.
‘It’s true. High of 64 on Saturday.’
I watch the one I love read the highs and lows and the way he holds his phone out straight in front to peek over the rim of his glasses knocks me around a little in waves of tenderness.
‘Baby, I think your arms are getting longer.’
Grow old along with me.
‘No. It’s just these glasses. I need a new prescription.’
‘Huh.’ I giggle and those same tender waves carry me straight out into a sea of nostalgia.
I am not unaware that our almost two decades together have him bearing witness to my own deep bow to time’s passage.
I have long since noted the way his hand guides my weak knees down any stairs by my elbow and how he slows his gait to match mine on an evening walk. Even if my joints are prematurely ruined, my just-greying crown of splendor must be about right on time.
There would not even be a scar remaining at the joint of our union where two became one all those years ago.
After a good long while of bruising each other’s toes, we have learned to dance to our own kind of music. And in some ways, learning still.
I know now not to fight the dip so much and we laugh and lean into the twirl and he knows I have to slow my heart-wild self to wait for his right-steady lead.
He still opens my door and makes me the perfect bite from his plate and understands that my quiet ‘nothing’ is wrong means my world is feeling all wobbly in the axis.
He has witnessed my body give forth life and has held my shattered heart together in both hands and I see God in his simple and steady choosing to love the woman I wrestle with most.
And I marvel at all of these things and that he comes home to me enduring as the sun to morning.
The best is yet to be.
Planting a tree on the day we got married would see it to this day as a fair bit of shelter and a good bit of shade.
Safe and solid.
I suppose it could be as boring as another new day…if you have a mind to look at things that way.
But if you don’t?
You’ll see the sun-dappled magic.
I sometimes take in the look of new lovers’ eyes if we are quiet or fussing or tired at the table next to them. There’s that secret exchange: they will never be like us.
And I just smile and think with a little salty sass, ‘Well, bless your heart. Maybe you’ll get here one day.’
I myself can think of no higher honor than being able to lay bare my good-to-bad-and-ugly soul to another who loves me steady as the sun and being escorted into eternity by the one I love.
It isn’t always pretty…
but it is forever beautiful.
The last of life, for which the first was made.
We made a getaway and we had a date and my boy kept the door open for a sweet, stooping woman and her man with hair long since gone and the deep eye-crinkles of a laughing soul. He bent low and whispered down into the ear of his love and they turned to look at us and we smiled back. I imagined he said, ‘Don’t worry; maybe they’ll get here one day.’
Youth shows but half; trust God: see all, nor be afraid!
Kind sir, I believe you.
And I can hardly wait.